


My Word on It

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Henry IV - Shakespeare, Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare, The Hollow Crown (2012)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Love/Hate, M/M, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 14:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18263486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: Five times Hotspur doesn't think Hal will keep his word but Hal does (plus one time Hal doesn't).





	My Word on It

1.

Hotspur wakes early because he always wakes early, and because he wakes early, the heir apparent to the throne of England is still asleep at his side. Prince Hal who is so boisterous all day in public is very quiet in bed. Last night he touched Hotspur with focused deliberation, only making quiet communications and the occasional sigh. This morning he sleeps like a baby. He didn’t snore, and he doesn’t stir when Hotspur groans, gets out of bed and pulls his clothes on.

Probably because last night he drank too much. Drink is a great soporific.

Hotspur could and probably should get out of here, this rented room at a dirty inn, out of Eastcheap entirely, without waking the prince up. He could leave Hal wondering if last night was merely a dream, if he never slept with Sir Henry Hotspur at all. But he’s too honest a man for that, and he’s not the sort to slip out without saying goodbye, so he shakes Hal’s shoulder and Hal wakes up faster than he would have imagined, eyes flashing fierce. It takes  a moment for him to recognize Hotspur; then he relaxes and laughs.

“I’m leaving,” Hotspur says.

“Are you? How dishonorable, to sleep and leave so soon. Come, stay—I told you last night there are many things I can show you…”

“I am leaving,” Hotspur says. He is definite.

Hal sighs, but his disappointment is shallow, petty. He is back to playing the lazy, spoiled, indolent prince. “Oh, very well. But you’ll come around again? I don’t think that a man as eager as you were last night will be able to stay away.”

“I will not,” Hotspur says, “and… and never a word about this, you hear? I don’t want this going around like your other conquests.”

The desire for secrecy is unlike him; he flushes. But Hal laughs and nods. “Of course if that’s what you want.”

Hotspur almost grabs him by the throat, but he restrains himself. “If I hear you have been spreading rumors about me, I’ll have your head.”

“My head? Why take it? So cruel, when you already have my heart.” But Hal sees how Hotspur is looking at him, and he puts a hand on said heart and says, “Very well then. I’ll never speak of tonight; you have my word on it.”

Hotspur doesn’t think Hal’s word is worth tuppence. But he never hears any mockery about him and the crown prince of England sleeping together, not even the slightest insinuation. So.

For some reason he must keep it.

 

 

2.

He finds the prince in the streets and grabs him by the back of the shirt. “Harry, you son of a bitch, you gangling monkey, so help me God, if you do not show up for the council tomorrow—”

“Hey, hey, Percy.” Hal pries him off. “What’s this about a meeting?”

It’s a vital matter related to Mortimer’s fight against Glendower, which has been going on for some time. Hotspur needs support, and no one else at court seems to agree with him. And he’s heard the king complaining about how Hal never shows up, and surely it would be good for him to show some initiative…

“I do believe my brother’s fate can be changed, if this council is swayed,” Hotspur says, “so you must show and so help me God—”

“I will not be attending that council,” Hal says.

Hotspur almost punches him.

“I wouldn’t be any good to you anyhow. Why should I show interest in your brother? Half the court thinks I’m corrupt. If I show up for this, all you’ll get is suspicion; they’ll think you paid me money to take your side, paid off some debt. No, that won’t help you. But,” Hal says, “fear not. I’ll see the council sends your brother more supplies and reinforcements.”

“And how do you intend to do that when you won’t even be there?”

Hal smiles and pats Hotspur’s back condescendingly. “I have my ways. My word on it, Percy—all will be well.”

All is not well; battle goes on, and for Mortimer it goes poorly. But the supplies and reinforcements do get sent, the council swings Hotspur’s way. Whatever Hal did, he kept his word, even if it may not turn out to be enough.

 

 

3.

Hotspur is a man usually more inclined to fight than to fuck, especially when his temper’s roused. And Hal rouses his temper. Yet they have sex long before they ever test each other’s mettle in battle—and they have sex not just once but several times, for Hotspur breaks his word though Hal doesn’t break his, he comes back time and time again, almost unintentionally but too regularly for that word to quite apply.

Hal has a way of turning Hotspur’s anger into lust, and God help him, Hotspur likes it. Shamefully likes it. He likes the way Hal pats his rage-flushed cheek and says to him, “Come now, friend Hotspur, why so angry?” He likes Hal’s jibes, the way they always hit a point but never pierce Hotspur quite through, the way they often seemed more aimed at the groin than at the heart. He likes Hal saying to him, “Well then, if you wish to discuss this matter further, let us not do it so publicly. You are a gentleman of reputation—you  cannot quarrel in the streets! Here, let us go up to my room and discuss matters privately.”

The fellows at the inn sometimes snicker, and part of him even gets off on that even as it angers him. He has no idea how word of their trysts hasn’t spread, when their meetings have so many witnesses. Can it be possible that all those people assume they really do go to Hal’s quarters just for private discussions? Or how does Hal keep them all quiet? They cannot be so loyal as to not even spread a tale about him. Tales of Hal’s other exploits have spread far and wide.

One way or another, Hotspur has become accustomed to Hal turning his temper up and then redirecting it for his own uses. He’s used to coming away from their encounters with maybe a mark or two on his neck and collarbone, but nowhere else. So what could be more shocking than when, one night, after a particularly scathing indictment of his behavior, Hal turns to him and says, “So then, will it be fists or steel?”

He sputters.

“You’ve stood here insulting a prince for a good many minutes now; you can’t have expected me to just take it, can you?”

Well, he did. Hal usually takes it, after all, usually enjoys it. But there’s a look in his eyes tonight, full of sparks and unharnessed energy. The fellows at the bar are snickering again, but for different reason. Or perhaps the same reason: they like seeing Hal make Hotspur look like a fool, one way or another, and they like seeing mischief unfold.

“Will you take all your fine words back then?” Hal asks, tilting his head. “Foul words, I should say, for they were rude and as ill informed as advised. Will you apologize and get on your knees to me? I should say I would forgive you then—otherwise, fists or steel?”

Hotspur swallows. In truth, he did not come here tonight seeking an argument. But he can’t get on his knees for Hal (though Hal has sometimes gotten on his knees for him); his pride is too great for that. He crosses his arms. “Well, if you’re keen for the challenge, it’ll be fists. I won’t kill the royal prince and bring a charge of treason on my head for your damned sensitivity.”

Hal scoffs. “A charge of sensitivity from Sir Harry Percy, in faith! But very well, we’ll fight with nought but our hands. And do not worry, Hotspur, you’ll not kill the prince of England tonight, so do not hold back your forces. I’ll see you apologize before this night is through—you have my word on it.”

Hotspur scoffs right back. Him, apologize to this sot! As if he could ever be compelled to do any such thing.

Half an hour later a barmaid is pressing a wet rag to his forehead. His lip is swollen, and he thinks he might have a black eye tomorrow. Hal is looking at him coolly. He swallows and says, “Very well then, you have my apology.” Having been bested in a fair fight, he has enough honor to admit it.

The smile that breaks across Hal’s face is like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. He squeezes Hotspur’s shoulder. “Not so hard then, was it, my dear Percy? Well, you’ve swallowed your pride tonight, but don’t let it chafe. I’ve swallowed enough of your insults that we both shall be well fed. If you come up to my room, we’ll have a nice talk, and we’ll be friends again, shall we?”

So they are friends again. For whatever value of friendship the two of them have.

Hotspur still likes it better when these meetings go more his way but there’s a shameful part of him that likes the way tonight went too.

 

 

4.

“I should stop spending the night here,” Hotspur grumbles.

“That sick of my company?”

“I’ve been sick of that since we first met, and perhaps long before,” Hotspur retorts, “but to add insult to injury, I put my purse down in the corner last night and now it’s missing. Do you know how much there was in that purse?”

Hal frowns for a moment. But he smiles when Hotspur looks at him expectantly, and says, “No, but I do know you’ll have every penny back by this time two days from now. My word on it.”

Hotspur snorts. “Aye, well. We’ll see about that. This inn is full of blackguards.”

In fact, he gets his purse back that very evening. Hal never explains exactly how, and Hotspur accuses him of stealing it himself. They fight again, but this time it ends as it usually does, a battle of tongues rather than fists.

The winner is never quite settled.

 

 

5.

He goes to Hal before going to the court, after the business of the refused prisoners. He knows the king must be out of sorts to say the least—Hotspur has seldom been summoned so rudely before—and he’s not afraid but he’s not looking forward to the meeting either, and if he’s likely to be arrested and executed in the next week he’d rather have one final fuck first.

“You won’t be executed or arrested,” Hal says soothingly. “Come, Harry. You’re overwrought.”

“You’ve seen how they treated Mortimer.” He never quite attaches Hal to his family’s misdeeds; Hal is apart from court, after all, so even though he’s hardly helped Hotspur’s case he’s done nothing to hinder it either. “My family’s fortunes are declining; they’ll think it better to do away with me. We know how Henry Bolingbroke deals with his enemies—England is not so blind as he thinks, and neither am I. Well, when my head’s cut off my shoulders, take a look at it before it’s stuck on a pike, and you can slap it or kiss it as you wish.”

Hal gives him one of those looks, impassive, unreadable. “You might not want to insult Henry Bolingbroke to me.”

Hotspur snorts. Everyone’s heard the way Hal talks about his father in the inn, in public, sometimes drunk, sometimes sober. He never had a nice word for the man, unless it’s ironic. That said, he’s usually more derisive than seriously critical—and right now they’re in private, in Hal’s room, which means things are a bit more serious than usual. So maybe Hotspur really should watch his words, but oh well. He’s already likely to go down for treason tomorrow, who cares anymore?

He starts to speak when Hal holds up his hand. “I said calm down, Percy. I give you my word on it: My father will hear you out, and you’ll be neither arrested nor executed. These are wild fears of yours. And even if you were arrested, I’d never leave you in prison long, and I’d hardly stand to see you killed.”

“What could you do about it?” Hotspur says.

Hal just looks at him. Then he opens his arms. Hotspur hesitates—they fuck, they don’t embrace, that’s not what this is, what they are—and he steps forward and hugs Hotspur, stroking his back.

“I said calm.” A kiss to the crook of Hotspur’s neck. “Calm, Hotspur. There is nothing for you to be afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid,” Hotspur says, “of anything.”

“Exactly. So why fear this?”

Their lips come together. The argument ceases.

Hotspur is not arrested by the king, but he can’t get the king to listen to his appeal for Mortimer’s ransom either. Yes, he knows pretty well how Henry Bolingbroke does things. He knows that if he wants to help Mortimer, if he wants to put this land to rights, he’ll have to get it done himself.

 

 

 

 

+1.

Hotspur only loses because he’s caught by surprise.

Correction: It’s only because he’s caught by surprise that he both loses and lives. He would have pulled out his sword, made a proper end of it, gone down fighting. But the men rush him before he sees them coming—his sword isn’t even out of its sheath by the time they’ve grabbed him. Fuck, he thinks, fuck. How did they track him here? How did they find out he was planning on meeting Hal—do they think Hal is a traitor now, will Hal be in trouble too…

(The letter would be evidence, and Hotspur still has it in his vest pocket, he’s had no chance to destroy it. _I wish to speak with you. I give you my word you will be safe_.)

Then the men drag him to wear they’ve left their horses, and their leader is sitting there on horseback, and it’s him. Harry fucking Monmouth.

He doesn’t get off his horse as he watches the men tie Hotspur up, watches impassively as Hotspur curses him with every curse he can think of (though he’s never been as creative as Hal, as has just been proved—he never would have come up with this).

When they haul Hotspur up onto an extra horse, Hal finally speaks to him. “Sir Percy, I have taken you as my captive. I believe my wishes for you will be respected.”

“Your wishes for me?”

“Yes, that you will not be killed.” Hal looks at him, and their eyes meet, but there’s nothing to read in Hal’s eyes: they are as cold as Hotspur has ever seen them. “I may obtain your pardon, but you’ve made it difficult for me with the army you’ve amassed. Your only advantage is that you’ve yet to directly engage the king’s forces. In every other way you’ve deliberately damned yourself.”

Hotspur could say, “I trusted you.” He could say a myriad of things to Hal about his damn wishes and his damn condescending voice. But for once his own voice fails him; instead, he spits on Hal’s shirt. It’s a miss—he intended to hit Hal’s face.

Hal lets out a laugh, rough and proud. Then he rides ahead, and Hotspur is left to ride with the men who are now his guards.

He is brought to speak with the king. The king says Hal has spoken on his behalf; Hotspur says he needs no intercession, he says exactly what is on his mind, all the treason he intended that he will now never be able to fulfill. The king says he will be imprisoned in the Tower until it can be decided what is to be done with him. For the prince still speaks on his behalf, and besides, his father is a valuable subject even if he is not.

His father. His father. If his father had just brought the men he said he would, had joined Hotspur in this fight—but Hotspur would still have lost to this treachery. None of his men were with him in that nook of the woods, because Hal’s letter told him to come alone.

He is kept in a tent that night, well guarded. Hal comes to visit him. “As I told you, you will be spared for now. I will work to see you pardoned. You have—”

“Your word, your highness? And what good is that?”

Hal presses his lips together. “You do not deserve half of what I’m doing for you, you devil.”

“Kill me then. Do you think you’ll make me apologize?”

“If you do not apologize or change your actions, you may end up in the Tower for good. Be wise, Percy, for once in your life.”

“I think honor is the better part—seeing your kind of wisdom, which is the wisdom of serpents.”

Their argument is hissed, quiet. They do not shove at each other as they usually would, or even touch each other. And when Hal leaves, neither of them is satisfied, though here the winner is quite certain. Hotspur stands defeated, utterly and completely.

He doesn’t doubt Hal will continue to intercede for him. If he doesn’t sabotage the effort too thoroughly, Hal may even succeed. Hal is on top of the world right now, after all. He’s got his father’s favor and saved Hotspur’s life in one fell swoop.

One could trust a man like that to get things done. But Hotspur will never again be so foolish as to think he knows Hal’s intentions.

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This sure has been a fic. How about that sudden and brutal betrayal y'all.  
> Comments would be much loved! :)


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